


Photo Opportunity

by Loopdeloup



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, First Contact, Fluff, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Shore Leave, Slow Burn, Sometime in Season 1, and Janeway lives in Denialsville, oh-oh!, things inevitably go craaazy, well Chakotay is an idiot in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loopdeloup/pseuds/Loopdeloup
Summary: It didn't seem like the offer to get repairs and maintenance done along with some quality shore leave could be more ideal. All that was requested in return was that they attend a farewell banquet for Captain Janeway, followed by a photo opportunity.In retrospect, they should have known that in the Delta Quadrant anything that seems too good to be true is almost certainly exactly that.
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 22
Kudos: 46





	1. Just Too Good to Be True

This doesn’t feel right.

Despite the Captain’s catching his eye, nodding and pointing to her combadge reassuringly as she was led out through a door behind the main dais, as the minutes drag by and she does not reappear, Chakotay feels more and more anxious.

*

It was true their hosts so far had been generous to a fault, happy to deliver all the requests for assistance and supplies as best as they could, asking for nothing but what Voyager voluntarily offered in return, and even then, seeming embarrassed to accept any recompense at all. They were a closed ethnocentric race, technologically advanced to such a point of comfort that they’d lost interest in exploration and scientific discovery, to instead focus on pleasure, beauty and social media. They had explained their own version of a prime directive that meant they could offer low-key disinterested hospitality in which they could provide for needs of those requesting it up to the level of technology these already possessed. They had been very discrete, giving the Voyager crew a whole uninhabited island of their own for shore leave, fully stocked with essential supplies and even leisure opportunities, with only minimal vidscreen contact between the two peoples, headed in Voyager’s case, by Captain Janeway. It actually didn´t seem things could be more ideal. In retrospect, in the Delta Quadrant this is never a good sign.

The one request they had made rather late in the whole process, once repairs and maintenance were complete, supplies of all kinds fully stocked and stowed away, the crew rested and relaxed, and Voyager ready in orbit to take off again homeward bound, was that Captain Janeway attend a farewell banquet to be held in her honour on the final night. Followed by what the universal translator stated as “a photo opportunity.” This was, they said, demanded by their etiquette.

And so here they were. The banquet had been surprisingly pleasant. Brisk and painless and even genuinely palatable as far as these things went.

The Prime Attendant responsible for the event had blandly ignored Chakotay’s insistently stated _preference_ that the Voyager party remain at least seated in pairs at the same table, airily waving off his concerns to instead seat each of the five members of the Voyager security detail accompanying the captain at tables placed at intervals around the beautifully appointed ballroom, in which the lighting is already candle-light low by human standards given the aliens' nocturnal nature. Chakotay had ensured he was closest to Janeway, yet even so, his table turned out to be tucked off to the side with its view of the main dais where the captain was seated half-obscured by one of the many columns decorated with wreaths of flowers and foliage.

There was no reason to distrust them, but from the very first, the way they seemed to be so focused on the captain made Chakotay feel acutely anxious for no clear reason he could identify.

And once the _photo opportunity_ segment was apparently about to commence, it turned out that if indeed everything had been much too easy up to now, this was where things looked like they might inevitably go awry.


	2. Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janeway had turned before leaving, searching around the room to catch his eye, gesturing for him to stay in place, that everything was alright, and pointing at her combadge reassuringly.
> 
> And then she was gone. 
> 
> Suddenly nothing seemed as pleasant or as benign as it had just moments before.

The banquet part of the evening had gone off without event.

Their hosts, the Grev, were highly dignified and elegant during the meal, merely nodding politely when addressed, making it plain that true to the protocol document they had sent before the event, they were not interested in engaging in conversation as the different courses were brought out, in a pleasant change from the usual type of awkwardness these occasions seemed to engender.

No sooner was the meal over—almost before Chakotay has even put his dessert spoon down—a swarm of attendants descend on every table to remove all the plates, all the glasses, and indeed every single decoration from the tables.

And it was at this point, with a swirl of activity all around the room as things are being whisked away, that by straining in his seat Chakotay is able to observe the Grev on the dais with the captain. These, he sees as they rise to their feet, are significantly taller and even more elegantly clad than those in the main hall, draped in sumptuous glossy glittery gauzy cloaks that seem to float around them in a translucent type of fairy-lit fog. And they are gesturing for the captain to accompany them through a wide door at the back of the dais.

Janeway turns before leaving, searching around the room to catch his eye, gesturing for him to stay in place, that everything is alright, and pointing at her combadge reassuringly.

And then she is gone.

Suddenly nothing seems as pleasant or as benign as it had just moments before.

*

Everything starts moving much faster.

All the aliens get up, unfolding their slim asexual-seeming bodies to their full great height. Their marble-like skin, their handsome high cheek-boned, triangular faces and their great glittering opalescent eyes suddenly no longer seem so regal and elegantly jovial. There is something somewhat sinister and cold about them.

They mutter amongst themselves as even the tables and chairs are quickly carried away, except for the ones the five members of the Voyager crew are sitting on, leaving these feeling a little shell-shocked and uncertain.

Chakotay goes to stand, but one of the Grev places its hand with its long pale fingers on his shoulder, pushing him to remain seated. This same alien leans over him, placing its face close alongside his own, staring at him closely, examining the very pores of his face.

Before he can react, he realizes another alien has positioned itself in front of them with a camera.

So this is, after all, the _photo opportunity_ segment of the evening.

He tries to peer around all the milling aliens to see what is happening on the dais. Nothing. There is still absolutely no sign of the captain re-emerging and he begins to feel seriously alarmed.

Ignoring the alien staring at him close range, he hits his combadge, “Captain, please report.”

The response is gratifyingly immediate: _All fine, Chakotay. Just getting a little photo opportunity makeover. They tell me it won’t be much more than ten minutes. Janeway out._

She sounds completely relaxed, even a little amused. Then again, he thinks worriedly, she is always too trusting when it comes to her own safety.

As he sees is happening for all the other Voyagers in the hall, the aliens around him are taking turns to stoop down to have to have photos taken with him. They push their faces close to his own, while a whole group of them flock around chattering amongst themselves excitedly. As the photographer clicks away, they examine his facial features, examining his tattoo and his very pores from close-up, frequently touching his hair, his arms and face with their light fluttery fingers, while poking their long blue tongues out the side of their mouths. They are particularly fascinated by his hair, perhaps due to being completely hairless themselves. They run their fingers through it, fluff his eyebrows, and tease at the downy hair peeking out at the wrists of his uniform, taking turns in groups of twos or threes while the others giggle and jostle each other awaiting their turn.

He does his best to remain calm and accepting of their unexpected enthusiasm, while trying to peer around them to watch out for the reappearance of the captain.

But time drags by—Surely already more than fifteen minutes has passed? Twenty? Half an hour?—and his anxiety starts to grow once again.

He is just about to insist on being taken to her when notices the aliens from the dais filing in once again through the door to arrange themselves around a type of high throne that has been set up before a massive ornately decorated bejewelled backdrop. Not being able to catch a hint of the black and red of the Starfleet uniform, he rises to his feet to the clucking indignation of the aliens waiting to have their photographs taken with him.

He eludes their plucking long slender fingers to begin shouldering his way towards the front.

He lets out a deep sigh of relief as he realises that in fact what he had taken in the low lighting to be one more Grev, is in fact the Captain herself, who they are in the process of arranging on the throne to begin to go about photographing with some kind of fancy holoimager.

They have indeed made her over, and she is a Starfleet captain no more.

They’ve dressed her in finery in the style of that they wear themselves, a flowing satiny gown topped with a transparent sparkling cloak floating about her in gauzy panels. It is as if she is framed within a glittering nebula, he realizes, and no more fitting nor lovely sight can he imagine. There is some kind of headpiece pulling the hair around her face up in a kind of crown threaded through with flowers and sparkling jewels, while leaving most of her hair down in a glorious auburn mass flowing over her shoulders in long loose ringlets. Surrounded by the tall, regal aliens, Kathryn somehow appears as a miniature ethereal fairy queen.

He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

She spots him looking at her, rolls her eyes with small grimace, but nods minutely. All is well. This is awful, but acceptable, and just a little bit hilarious.

He allows his own group of aliens to push him back into his seat so they can resume having photos taken with him. Provided they leave clear a space from which he can watch her, he is no longer so fussed as they increasingly invade his personal space and his dignity in posing with him.

He watches the captain as she sits very still and gracious, smiling modestly with her lop-sided grin held carefully on her face as the elegant high-status Grev on the dais go on to take turns having images taken with her. Her eyes are cast modestly down, trying somewhat unsuccessfully not to laugh or to scowl by turns as they hunch down alongside her, pressing themselves close to her, staring at her close up, cooing over her. As time goes by, they become more daring, slitting their great cat-like eyes in pleasure as they fluff her eyebrows, teasing at the tiny golden hairs on her arms with their long pale fingers, holding out locks of her sumptuous auburn hair for the photographs, and increasingly _not_ restraining themselves—despite the gentle chiding of their onlooking peers, and despite the full-force scowls that increasingly win out over her expression—from _grooming_ all these various hairs, licking at them with their long thin blue tongues.

It has been some time since Chakotay had freely admitted to himself that at the best of times he finds his captain almost painfully beautiful. He freely accepts, too, that he is stupidly in love with her, in a totally inappropriate boyish adoring kind of way that is all too transparent to everyone but her (or which at the very least she is noble enough to pretend not to perceive) and which he just isn’t able to shift into something more professional and grounded. Even in her standard gender-neutral uniform, with her hair chastely held up in a no-nonsense bun he finds it difficult to look away from her, cherishing every phrase she utters, every movement of her hands, every expression on her face.

But here, like this, Chakotay concedes to himself that if not for his own party of aliens crowding around, he is pretty certain he himself would—if only he could—be just one more in the group shamelessly fawning around and adoring her, desperate to be able to have his turn to gaze at her close up, take a souvenir holoimage of himself basking in the glow of her unbearable glamour.

*

Probably not poking out his tongue or licking her though.

One has to hold on to some small sliver of dignity.

*


	3. Pardon the Way That I Stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janeway turns to him with a quizzical look. What?
> 
> He rubs his hand over his face. That’s it, he is not going to talk any more on the grounds that he might and probably will incriminate himself. The desire to stop dead still and really feast his eyes on her has stunned him stupid, yet again. She has a way of doing that to him. 
> 
> He is in deep trouble.

It is almost two hours later before he and the other security officers are able to extricate themselves from their own photo sessions to insist that their captain finally be allowed to retire.

“Everything alright?” Chakotay asks her in a voice full of concern as he helps her down from the throne.

Despite all the indignities she has been subject to, Captain Janeway, in all her translucent finery and looking simply achingly gorgeous, is in surprisingly good cheer. She pats his arm reassuringly and says to him confidentially, “As far as I’m concerned, Commander, if being dressed up ridiculously and petted and lightly handled and even _licked_ is the price to be paid for having my ship fully stocked and repaired, my people safe and relaxed and ready to move on with good star charts setting a course through what they assure me is friendly space for at least the next fifty light years, call me easy if you like, but I am _down_ for it. I’ve been through worse in Federation functions in any case. All those old admirals. At least these people don't _talk_ at you!"

He chuckles. She has a point there. She is such a powerful authoritative presence in her everyday shipboard persona, this is not the first time he has been surprised by how capable and expediently forgiving a diplomat she is when required.

The Voyagers arrange themselves in close escort around their captain for a final procession around the room and out along the flower-strewn carpet past all the aliens, who shake their blue tongues appreciatively at them as they pass, two officers in front, two behind, and Chakotay walking beside her.

He tucks her arm into his to assist her in walking perched on the precariously high jewelled shoes they’ve given her and tries not to stare at her too much. With her dressed like this it is hard to remember he is supposed to be at work heading the security detail for his formidable superior officer, rather than being the simple schmuck lucky enough to have the opportunity to walk arm in arm with the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“Aren’t these people just gorgeous!” Janeway whispers out the side of her mouth to him, while waving to the aliens lining the carpet leading to their exit. “Except for the tongues of course. As for myself, I have never felt so much like a pet monkey!”

Chakotay exhales in amazement. He sees the officers in front of him, painfully aware that their captain could now less than ever be likened to a pet monkey, exchange disbelieving glances. _Does she really not know how attractive she is?_

“It turns out,” she continues, “we bear an uncanny resemblance to their most beloved _domestic pet_ , a furry creature they enjoy licking clean by way of petting. They dote on them more than they do their children. I met one. They’re awful. Cantankerous bitey little creatures with creepily human-like faces and just a patch of fur in a strip along the top of their heads. The only furred animals on the whole planet! They think we are unbelievably _cute,_ if you can believe that. And _I_ win out in adorableness over you all thanks to all this hair.” She tosses a mass of those luscious auburn ringlets over her shoulder disdainfully to the awed hiss of the aliens they were passing in front of. “At least it finally turned out to be good for something! They want me to keep the headpiece and jewellery. It’s all made of a really fascinating metal. I can’t wait to investigate it for any special properties. Not to mention the stones.”

“You should keep them, Captain. They made it especially for you, and you look...” he gulped, suddenly feeling nervous, “They suit you.”

“Ha! Not really the thing to wear on the bridge I think,” she slaps at his arm with dismissive amusement. “I'd rather melt it down to make circuitry out of it. Apparently, except for the shoes, the whole set is pretty much an enlarged version of their standard pet accessories! There’s that theory that you can judge how civilized a society is by the way they treat their pets. These people must be right at the summit of civilization!”

“And the… gown?” he darts a nervous glance in its general direction, careful not to be caught staring. From up close, the translucent nebula cloak is completely see-through over a sleeveless glossy pink satin gown with pencil thin straps, plunging at the neckline to pool over surprisingly well-formed curves, the whole showing a whole lot more of creamy soft voluptuousness than even he has ever before imagined her to possess. And he has done a lot of imagining.

“This old thing!” She leans in to him, and whispers confidentially, “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to let on. This is my actual _nightgown_! That was the delay. I had Tuvok beam it down. You wouldn’t believe what they first dressed me in! One of those transparent slitted numbers they wear. Works fine for them, but on me it was all bare breasts and floaty panels over a whole lot of nakedness.”

The best he can do is utter a strangled type of noise. His throat goes dry, not sure which of these two images of her is more powerful, her in her nightgown, or her _not_ in her nightgown.

“I know! Please don’t let on, Commander. Just imagine the scandal if it were known that a Starfleet Captain attended an official first contact banquet in _her nightgown_. I’d never live it down. But it was the best I could think of on short notice and it did the trick.”

“Oh, yes, it certainly would,” he says woodenly. Then realizes how stupid that sounds. Even he doesn’t know what he means.

Janeway turns to him with a quizzical look. _What?_

He rubs his hand over his face. That’s it, he is not going to talk any more on the grounds that he might and probably will incriminate himself. The desire to stop dead still and really feast his eyes on her has stunned him stupid, yet again. She has a way of doing that to him.

He is in deep trouble.

*

As they leave the hall and the last of the aliens have waved their long blue tongues at them in appreciation, they find the Prime Attendant waiting for them in the antechamber from which they are to be beamed back to the ship.

“Here I have the star charts with the best course plotted through it,” the Prime Attendant holds up a padd-like device, showing it to the Captain. “But first, in thanks, a gift for each of your escorts.”

It presents each of the five security officers with a similar device which turns out to contain a rotating photo display featuring the photos taken with the aliens, including those with themselves, but most especially filled with apparently many hundreds of photos taken with the Captain, most with aliens crowing doe-eyed in adoration over her. It is true, Chakotay realises, scanning through these briefly, that the aliens' expressions as they gaze on her are as if she were the cutest, most adorable baby kitten they’d ever seen. He has to admit, he doesn’t feel so differently himself. Except… when… he does.

He realises he’s been so focused on his gift that he’s allowed his attention to stray, and meanwhile the Prime Attendant, instead of handing over the device to Janeway with the promised star charts on it, holds this high in the air out her reach while its assistant takes the opportunity to get photos of it together with the Captain, poking out its blue tongue in delight while wrapping a lock of her hair closely around its fingers and holding this to its mouth.

Meanwhile the other security officers are scanning through their devices with just a little too much appreciation.

Furthermore, now the main event is over and the end is in sight, it's plain that Captain Janeway’s long-suffering patience and general good cheer is starting to wear thin, and not just with the aliens. Her death glare is finally starting to warm up for what can only be admitted is a long-overdue appearance. “Thank you for your generous hospitality, Prime Attendant, ladies and gentlemen." This latter is directed acidly at her security detail, who quickly stand to attention, their new devices held behind their backs, "We really must be getting back to our ship."

She nods at Chakotay to reach up to grab the promised device from the Prime Attendant. As soon as this is done, she all but slaps off the offending blue tongue with the back of her hand.

As they move away to stand in formation to be beamed up, she mutters, “This Cinderella is more than ready to lose the shoes and turn back into a pumpkin, or a frog, or a werewolf, or however that old legend goes. Back to Starfleet rags for this pretend princess as soon as possible. And quickly before one more handsome prince gets a chance to lick me!”

With a patently insincere grimace and half bow to the Prime Attendant, she slaps at the combadge hidden under her nebula cloak finery, “Tuvok, six to beam up! Energize!”

*


	4. And If It’s Quite Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tearing his eyes off her, Chakotay sternly turns to Ayala and the other accompanying officers. Before Tuvok has a chance to do so, his puts his hand out impatiently to receive the photo display device each had been given. “Sorry, crewmen. These photos are not going to be freely shown around the ship.” 
> 
> The security officers shoot him dark looks, but each hands over their device. 
> 
> “You’ll get them back once all the photos of the Captain have been deleted from them.”

They rematerialize in the transporter room and Tuvok is waiting with a large cloak in which to wrap the Captain for her walk back to her quarters. As he settles it around her, she leans against his forearm to bend down and unstrap then kick off her shoes with relief. Suddenly she is alarmingly—and much too charmingly—miniscule in her bare feet. She draws all those long, luscious ringlets out from under the cloak and twirls them into a single twist which she hangs with a disapproving glare over her shoulder.

Tearing his eyes off her, Chakotay sternly turns to Ayala and the other accompanying officers. Before Tuvok has a chance to do so, his puts his hand out impatiently to receive the photo display device each had been given. “Sorry, crewmen. These photos are _not_ going to be freely shown around the ship.”

The security officers shoot him dark looks, but each hands over their device.

“You’ll get them back once all the photos of the Captain have been deleted from them.”

Tuvok raises and eyebrow to this, while Janeway looks bemused, “Is that really necessary Commander?”

But Chakotay stares them all down, keeping a firm hold on the devices. “Sorry Captain, I don’t want these photos being handed around for the likes of Tom Paris to get his hands on.”

“Very well, I guess you’re right,” says Janeway. “But really I don’t mind looking a fool every now and then. It’s all in good fun.”

_Looking a fool. All in good fun_. That’s what she thinks? She really has no idea. He is not having half the crew—or who are we kidding here, practically _all_ the crew—ogling over her. 

Chakotay carries the devices off to his quarters to delete the relevant photos in private.

And if the task takes longer than strictly might be necessary, and if he never quite gets around to pressing the delete button on the photos on his own device, no one, he thinks to himself, need ever be the wiser.

*

Later he thinks this over.

_Oh, alright._

_Damn it._

_*_

So. Not wanting to be creepy about it, he requests time with the captain to look over the photos with her.

Enjoying their new star charts and the clear run through friendly space that the Grev have plotted out for them, the whole crew is more relaxed and rested than they’ve been in a long time. “How about we look at them over a bottle of wine? Come by to my quarters for dinner at 1900 hours?”

He is surprised but delighted by the invitation. Dinner. Just because he is stupidly in love with her doesn´t mean they can’t be friends. Shouldn’t be friends. He can do that, he tells himself. Friends.

Thinking about it, spending more time with her, getting to know her better and seeing more of her ordinary foiables is probably what he needs to shift himself out of this schoolboy crush he has on her. Give her a chance to reveal herself after all to be an ordinary mortal, not the most unimaginably perfect creature she seems to be.

Yes. Friends. Just the thing.

*

They wind up having a couple of bottles of wine over the task.

The first photos on his device are of him with the Grev, at first posing rather stiffly as they stare at him at close range, but quickly turning into shots of him looking stoic as they ruffle his eyebrows and discretely poke their tongues into his hair. It is not long before both Janeway and Chakotay are crying with laughter at the growing expressions of discomfort on his behalf and growing daring and delight on behalf of the aliens. The whole effect continues with escalating hilarity as they move on to the photos of the aliens posing with Janeway, and her increasingly nonplussed attempts to smile politely alongside the ever more extreme faces of eye-rolling bliss on the theretofore regal proud alien’s faces as they variously fondle and lick at her hair.

“But seriously,” Chakotay says once they recover from the hilarity, “Look at you, Captain. You really are – You really _do_ look beautiful. Your hair –"

She interjects wryly, “I am seriously thinking of chopping it off you know. Now more than ever. It’s such an indulgence. And so much work keeping it tied up out of the way. Not really the thing for the Delta Quadrant.”

“Oh no!” The real emotion in his voice escapes him before he is able to filter its appropriateness. When her glance flies to his in surprise at his vehemence, he saves himself, after a beat, with a dimpled smile, “Just imagine the disappointment of the next set of benevolent human-hair-fetish aliens we come across!”

She laughs, “Yes, exactly!”

And then they come to the photos at the end of the device, that were taken of her first, of her posing alone.

Set on a throne before the exquisite opulent backdrop, wreathed in her glistening majestic nebula cloak, her face framed in a sparkling crown of bejewelled flowers, her long tresses spread luxuriously around her, in that glossy pink gown that did not reveal so much as showcase her curves, his tough, brilliant, kick-arse Captain—who with a few words and a glare can strike terror into the hearts of anyone on the crew and pretty much any contender at all unfortunate enough to incur her wrath—looks so _indescribably sweet and vulnerable, so heart-stoppingly beautiful an ethereal fairy queen_ that it fairly makes his heart ache.

They both pause and grow serious observing this vision.

“I scrub up alright really,” she says eventually.

He snorts in response.

“Captain,” he turns to her seriously, a little shy, “I wanted to ask. Do you mind if I keep these photos?”

She shakes her head minutely, surprised. “Not at all. I never minded.”

He looks at her quizzically— _How does she not get it?—_ while she mirrors the same expression back— _What is it I'm not getting?_

After a few minutes he says softly, “And… that’s _really_ your nightgown?”

She nods, suddenly starting to feel self-conscious, “Oh. _Oh._ Well. When I´m not wearing standard Starfleet grey flannel pyjamas like a good Starfleet Captain… Yes, OK. Maybe you’re right about not showing the photos all around the ship.”

He nods seriously and pours them each another glass of wine.

*

The next day after going over some reports together they sit down for coffee in Kathryn's ready room.

The framed photo of herself with her fiancé and her dog, smiling under the normalcy of the rich golden sunlight of earth, is right there on the coffee table.

She looks at it for a while, and then down at her hands, thinking. Then she raises her sharp blue eyes to his, “Chakotay? I’m not missing something here, am I? There is… nothing really _inappropriate_ about those photos, right? Nothing… I should feel…” her voice drops to a hoarse whisper, “ _\- odd_ about? About letting you keep them?”

He is genuinely offended, “No! Definitely not! It’s just… For the crew, you just look so… _uncaptainly_. It would be bad for crew morale.”

“Bad for _crew morale_?”

“Well. OK. Maybe not. But having that vision of you, as a—” _Stunningly_ _beautiful woman? Goddess?_ His hands clench as his thinks of Tom Paris with these photos, of Ayala, of heck, anyone. “—as a _civilian_. They certainly don’t need that kind of distraction in their professional relationship with you.”

“Ah. And how about you? And _your_ professional relationship with me?”

“That’s different.” His eyes fall to the photograph on her coffee table. “We’re... friends.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “OK. I’m not going to keep going down this path. But on second thoughts, I take it back. I _do_ mind your keeping those photographs of me, since you’re making such a big deal about it, unless you reciprocate in kind. As your _friend_ , I want a similar photograph of you. Or a whole photo session. As a _civilian_. Preferably after being made over by aliens, with or without hair licking. Yes, I know you have all that part already. But I want it with you wearing your non-Starfleet issue pyjamas.” 

“Hah! But I think I can only disappoint you there…” He raises his eyebrows and holds out his hands, shrugging an apology. “I’m afraid I don’t _wear_ pyjamas.”

“Now that, my friend, really would be a professional distraction.” Her eyes fall to the photograph on her coffee table once again briefly, then she turns to face him, her eyes sparkling, and she holds out her hand to him. “Let’s just leave it well enough alone then. Friends?”

He takes it affectionately in both of his own, resolutely ignoring the frisson of electricity and the clenching of the heart he feels at her touch. “Friends,” he agrees.


End file.
